


Sway, Part Two

by 6YearsABrave



Series: Sway [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 2014, Atlanta Braves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6YearsABrave/pseuds/6YearsABrave
Summary: Medlen walks in on something he didn't really want to walk in on.





	Sway, Part Two

Kris Medlen felt a little disoriented.

It was weird; he stumbled around a little, reaching out feebly for the railings, before taking a seat on the bus to go home. He’d just had Tommy John surgery that morning. There would be no 2014 season for him, as it was late March and it would take him a bit more than a year to get back to Major-League pitching form, if he even could. It was his second such surgery; last season turned out to be very successful on the whole, even though it didn’t start out well, and he’d had thoughts during that time telling himself not to take it for granted.

Maybe he had. 

His teammates would still be there, playing their hearts out, right there in front of him, all season long, while he watched. Including Chris Johnson.

He hadn’t left Medlen’s mind, either. Medlen remembered full well what they did last season, even though he’d been busy that offseason spending time with his real boyfriend, Moylan.

It was a pleasant memory in the middle of his hellish present as the bus dropped him off.

 

It was a difficult thing to do – sit on the bench while your teammates get to play every day. Medlen became a cheerleader; nothing more. Even then, he couldn’t high-five with his right hand for the first month. He needed something more…he needed some sense of self-worth, some satisfaction in being there, some pleasure in waking up in the morning.

He still didn’t have Moylan. His boyfriend was actually a Houston Astro now. Still too far away for Medlen.

The first three weeks of 2014 had gone by and the Braves were doing quite well. Remarkably well-off was the starting rotation – without him, Medlen painfully reflected. The Marlins were in town, and Alex Wood was pitching a hell of a game. Medlen watched from the bench, scanning the field. He tried to watch all his teammates on a more or less equal plane, but his gaze kept returning to third base…to Chris Johnson…as if by a magnetic force or something.

Someone was bound to notice him staring. He stuck his hands on his head.

“You alright Meds?” Jonny Venters, who sat next to him and was also recovering from a second Tommy John, asked.

“Uh…yeah,” Medlen answered as if it were absurd of him to ask.

 

The game turned out to end 1-0, the Braves losing a tough pitching contest.

Medlen sat in his locker, his mind spinning. Now that they were around each other all the time again, Chris Johnson wouldn’t leave his thoughts, no matter how much he tried to push him away. 

He heard voices and peeked out. Several Braves were coming out of the shower room, chatting, towels draped everywhere. Johnson wasn’t among them; in fact, he hadn’t seen Johnson at all.

Medlen stood up. He took a clean t-shirt and headed for the shower room as if he were going to take a shower, not saying anything to anyone. Since mostly everyone had already showered, he didn’t see anyone at first once he entered. However, he did hear someone.

He looked into the first few stalls, finding them empty. As he walked back toward the end of the row of stalls he heard the sounds of heavy breathing and grunting growing louder. He didn’t recognize the voice of the grunts. One shower was running up ahead.

Medlen made his way to the last stall. Quiet as death, he slowly poked his head around the stall divider. His jaw went slack and his mouth dropped open when he saw who was inside.

There was Chris Johnson, his bare back turned to Medlen, facing the wall, which was covered in water droplets from the shower. Behind him, face flat against the same wall, was another man with extremely curly, dark hair – who was moaning.

Medlen shook his head, unable to speak. After a second Johnson slowly pulled himself from the other man and turned to face Medlen. He didn’t look as surprised as he did annoyed.

The other man, with one more sigh, turned around and looked at Medlen as well. His handsome face was soaking wet and tired, but his identity was unmistakable.

“… _Saltalamacchia!_ ” Medlen sputtered.

Jarrod Saltalamacchia, the Marlins’ catcher who they acquired in the last offseason, was not only in the Braves’ clubhouse, but getting done by Chris Johnson.

The busy duo just stood there, staring at Medlen, as he gaped. “What the…what the hell…”

Johnson was visibly annoyed, and it came through in his voice when he cocked his head and asked, “What is it, Meds?”

Medlen suddenly found words. His tone was angry. “What the hell, Johnson?”

“Oh my…oh my god!” Someone else said, interrupting what would have been a tirade from Medlen. “What’s going on in here?”

“Ervin!” Johnson said as the newest Brave pitcher made his way to the stall where all the action was. He shrugged. “Care to join us?”

“Not at all!” Ervin Santana replied suggestively, pulling off the cap he wore over his dreadlocks and flinging it away.

“Saves me time,” Johnson said under his breath.

“Johnson,” Medlen said, livid now, “I thought…” He took a deep breath of hot, steamy air. It almost choked him. “I thought you liked _me_.”

Johnson turned back to face Saltalamacchia as Ervin Santana came up behind him. He steadied his arm against the wall. “I did,” he replied in a low voice, drawing closer to the excited Marlin and grinning, “Thanks.” With emphasis, he mashed his mouth against Saltalamacchia’s and moaned as Ervin put his arms around Johnson at the same time.

Medlen let out a puff of air. He couldn’t believe it. Johnson readily invited Ervin, but treated him like he was already used and thrown away.

He kept his head down as he left the shower room as quickly as he could.

 

Medlen wasn’t the same the next couple of days.

He couldn’t stand to be around Chris Johnson. At all. He felt like the man poisoned the very air he breathed and that his touch might kill him. Eye contact, or even basic politeness, were out of the question.

This became an issue when Medlen came through the door of the home clubhouse shortly after a game against Cincinnati and Medlen let the door drop backwards into Johnson’s face.

“Hey!” Johnson said, pushing the door with his glove, but Medlen was silent, trudging his way back to the shower rooms, his head lowered. He was quick enough so Johnson didn’t follow him.

But someone else did.

Medlen didn’t stop until he was alone in a shower stall. He hastily pulled the curtain closed as someone called, “Meds…Meds!” It was an innocent-sounding, Spanish-accented voice, but Medlen didn’t really feel like talking at the moment. He thought he wanted to be alone.

“Meds.” A hand slowly pulled back the shower curtain. It was Luis Avilan, one of the mainstays of the bullpen who had partly replaced Peter Moylan. “You alright?”

“No.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Luis sighed. “It can’t be nothing. Why so upset?”

“I just…” Now Medlen sighed. “I’m upset about someone I shouldn’t even be upset over. I’m just so fed up with…myself.”

Luis glanced at the floor. There was the tiniest trace of a smile on his face. “Mind saying who?”

Medlen looked at Luis, and all he saw was a short, stout, kind young reliever – a friend. Medlen made a small pout before saying quietly, “Johnson.”

Luis’ smile grew bigger. “I know what you’re going through.”

Medlen gave him an annoyed and incredulous look. “What?”

“He’s vicious…but it’s just the way he is.”

“What do you mean?”

Luis came closer to Medlen and put an understanding arm around him comfortingly. “Exactly how did it start?”

Medlen looked down. “It started,” he swallowed, “I guess…when he did me the small kindness of trying to get a hit changed to an error.”

“He was nice to you?”

“Really nice.” Medlen’s tone was regretful. “I fell for him, I guess. I shouldn’t have. My boyfriend’s with Houston.”

“He’s very…how do you say it…charisma?”

“Charismatic.”

“Yes.”

Medlen sighed again. “He suckered me in, and I just couldn’t refuse. I didn’t want to. It was…great. While it lasted.”

There was a pause. Then Luis said, “And then?”

“And then…” Medlen trailed off, trying to find the right way to tell Luis. “And then, I caught him. With…Jarrod Saltalamacchia, and also Ervin.” Medlen looked at Luis. “He didn’t want me at all. Just – turned me away.” The last part was only whispered.

Luis looked back into Medlen’s sad eyes. “I know how you feel,” he said. “The same thing happened to me.”

Surprise crossed Medlen’s face. “What?”

“It’s true,” Luis continued. “Shortly after Johnson came, last year, being my rookie year, he was super nice to me, he was very friendly, and I admit, I really liked him. Even trusted him to give me baseball advice. Even though he’s not a pitcher.” Luis made a tiny sigh. “I thought he had a thing for me. Just me.” A cute little wistful smile. “He was amazing. A little too amazing. Too good to be true. Sure enough, it wasn’t true.”

“What happened?” Medlen asked, feeling sorrier and sorrier for Luis as the story went on. 

“I found him,” Luis said, “with Anthony Varvaro.”

“Him too?” Medlen asked, surprised.

“Meds,” Luis said, taking him by the shoulder, “Johnson has done so many guys, you wouldn’t believe it.” He took a deep breath. “It didn’t take me long to realize it, but…that’s all he does.”

Medlen didn’t know what to say. It made perfect sense. And it had taken him a long time to realize it.

“I think he’s been with Jordan Schafer, too,” Luis added. “At least, probably.”

That amazed expression wouldn’t leave Medlen’s face. “Why?”

“Why?” Luis repeated. “I really don’t know.”

“How could he?” Medlen asked quietly.

“Meds,” Luis said a little louder, “I know it’s real hard, but…you have to move on. It took me a while to get over him too, but I know now that that’s just the way he is and that I deserve better than that…you deserve better than that, too.”

Medlen looked Luis square in the eyes, then raised his arms and dropped them listlessly around Luis’ neck, hugging him tightly and resting his chin on Luis’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Meds,” Luis said, resting his hands up on Medlen’s back.

“I know, Luis,” Medlen replied with emotion. “Thank you. Just…thank you. I realize now that I just needed to tell someone who understands.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

 

Two nights later, Medlen stood by his locker chatting with their leader, Jason Heyward, when Chris Johnson came into the room and strode over to them.

“What’s up, Hey,” he said to Jason. “Hey, could I get a minute alone here with Meds? Just a second?”

“Sure,” Jason replied, backing off to go find Freddie Freeman.

An unhappy look crossed Medlen’s face. He tried to push the annoyance, the anger, down in his throat, but it was increasingly difficult, especially after Johnson spoke and tried to make eye contact with him.

“Hey, Meds,” Johnson started, “anything we…need to discuss?”

Him standing there, right in front of him, the same lips that were mashed against his way back when, the same hands that had invigorated his skin once, made Medlen’s skin crawl again and his belly turn over. His heart rate sped up and his throat tightened a little. “No,” came the quiet, petulant reply.

“Meds,” Johnson said, “what’s going on? You’re not the same, I can tell.”

“Well, look who’s finally coming around.”

“Meds!”

Medlen tried to remember Luis’ advice to him. That’s just the way he is…you deserve better than that…you have to move on.

Medlen turned away from Johnson, lowering his eyes.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t move on.

“Just go,” Medlen whispered.

“What was that?”

“I said, just go!” Medlen snapped, the emotion rising quickly in his suddenly-strained voice. “I…” Medlen turned back to Johnson slowly, sucking in his breath. He thought he might suffocate. His eyes started to water but he didn’t care. Johnson had already seen everything.

Johnson surveyed him with those intense blue eyes, trying to understand what was going on inside Medlen and largely failing. “Meds,” he said quietly, “are you upset about me? Because…because if you are, I am sorry. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He gently touched Medlen’s upper left arm, and Medlen didn’t flinch. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” There was a pause. Then he went on, “You’re my teammate, and a great one at that. I don’t want to see you this way. Especially with your elbow.”

Medlen’s voice was low and intense. “I don’t think you can do anything about it.”

“But if I can…” Johnson sighed, visibly troubled himself now. “If I can, just tell me.”

Medlen made himself look Johnson in the eyes, a piercing feeling for them both, as if they were connected by their very souls. It felt like a line of pure electricity connecting them on a single, pulsing charge. Medlen knew if he kept his feelings inside him they’d kill him, one way or another. It felt good to tell Luis everything; as the seconds ticked by, he gave in to his need for a release more and more. “Yes. There you have it. You _are_ the reason I’m feeling like this. You did this to me.”

Johnson sighed, closing his eyes. “Meds, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Medlen forced a deep breath, “I know we’re not together, we’re not boyfriends. And I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about you, and the time we had, and what you did and what you said to me the other night.”

“Meds, I really don’t want you to feel like this.”

“But I do, and there’s nothing I can do about it!” Medlen’s voice rose uncontrollably. He made an exasperated gesture by throwing his left hand up briefly. “Fix it! Just…just fix it.” He felt downright helpless now.

Johnson only stared at Medlen after the injured pitcher hung his head.

“I don’t know how.”


End file.
